


Naughty and Nice List

by Breath4Soul



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Backstory, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Magic, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Naughty and nice, POV John Watson, Santa Baby, Santa Buddy, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breath4Soul/pseuds/Breath4Soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>John explains to Sherlock about Christmas. <b><br/>______________________</b></b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <b></b>
  </b>
</p><p>“Hold on, you<i> never</i> believed in Santa?”</p><p>“Of course not, John,” Sherlock countered in that way that indicated the very thought was absurd. “Mummy knew we were far too intelligent to ever believe that foolish drivel.” Sherlock glanced at me. Presumably seeing the sadness and dismay written all over my face, Sherlock sighed in exasperation. </p><p>“Very well... Enlighten me. What could I <i>possibly </i>have been missing?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naughty and Nice List

Sherlock Holmes didn't know about Santa. He didn't know about reindeer, stockings or cookies and milk. He certainly didn't know about naughty and nice lists. This gap in knowledge should _not_ be alarming, after all here before me was the same _genius_ that lacked a rudimentary understanding of the solar system. Yet, to me it _was_ disconcerting on a completely different level. To me it spoke volumes about the utter lack of magic in Sherlock's childhood. 

What is childhood without that sense of excitement, the wonder, and the whole-hearted embrace of the highly impossible? My childhood hadn't been all roses and sunshine, but _even I_ had the magic of Santa at Christmas... for a good nine or ten years anyways.

It was two weeks prior to Christmas and in the course of investigating a case we found ourselves at Bart's lab. Molly, to her credit, had put on some Christmas tunes to lighten the mood. 

This part of working with _the world's only consulting detective_ was all rather boring for me; watching Sherlock stare into microscopes, occasionally retrieving things from his pockets, making adventitious suggestion that Sherlock would undoubtedly immediately discount as if it was _idiotic_ but then would soon find it _key_ to unlocking all kinds of doors to solving the case. 

I was milling about when a song came on I hadn't heard before; a male take on _‘Santa, Baby’_ called _’Santa, Buddy.’_ As the suave male voice tried to solicit increasingly outrageously expensive gifts from Santa for all his _‘good’_ behavior, I found myself rather enjoying it for the humor. 

This was visibly grating on Sherlock's nerves, he shifted on his stool and provided ample eye rolls. 

When the man crooned out the line _‘Think of all the hotties that I never kissed,’_ and I gave a chuckle, this seemed to be _intolerable_ to Sherlock. 

The consulting detective raged, “What sort of _imbecilic_ mind would concoct a homage to a fictitious character meant to coddle the young and naive into compliance.” I sat back, startled by his outburst. As much as Sherlock appeared to hate all things Christmas, he still seemed, on some level, to understand its significance to others and therefore refrained from verbally accosting it.

“How can you not like Santa,” I inquired. “He's all about giving, and caring for other people.”

Sherlock brooded. “At _best_ he is a an anthropomorphic personification of societies _dreadful_ seasonal descent into madness. At _worst_ his purpose has been perverted in service of rampant consumerism,” Sherlock retorted vehemently. I sat back in my chair and tried to understand the essence of Sherlock's protest. I’d known Sherlock well enough to understand that he often resorted to insulting people or things he knew others valued to hide what truly bothered him.

“Ah, but he's more than _that,_ Sherlock. Think of all the joy and excitement he brought you as a kid... The anticipation…” Sherlock looked down into his microscope, face drawn tight in agitation. 

“Hold on, you _never_ believed in Santa?”

“Of course not, John,” Sherlock countered in that way that indicated the very thought was absurd. “Mummy knew we were far too intelligent to ever believe that foolish drivel.” Sherlock glanced at me. Presumably seeing the sadness and dismay written all over my face, Sherlock sighed in exasperation. 

“Very well... Enlighten me. What could I _possibly_ have been missing?”

I scratched my head, not knowing where to start. “Well, as a kid it is all very magical.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. I cleared my throat and he straightened a bit. “So Santa Claus had a workshop with elves for making toys at the North Pole,” I said. Just saying it to a grown person, much less Sherlock Holmes, made it feel a bit ridiculous. “So you make a list of things you want and mail it to Santa. He makes a list of children throughout the world, categorizing them according to their behavior ("naughty" or "nice") and then delivers presents, including toys, and candy to all of the well-behaved children in the world, and sometimes coal to the naughty children, on the single night of Christmas Eve. He accomplishes this with flying reindeer who pull his sleigh.”

Sherlock bristled. “Really, John? An omnipresent, all-seeing, all knowing, ageless being with miraculous powers that he uses to reward the good? Might as well be a religious cult. Let us go set up altar with some offerings.”

I arched my eyebrows, suddenly glad I left the milk and cookies _'offering_ ’ out of my description. “

“Alright,” I groaned accepting some things can't be recaptured after a certain age. “Is there anything at all about it that you can appreciate?”

“Well I suppose the whole naughty and nice list in some ways appeals to my sense of moral justice.”

“Well that's _something_ at least.”

But is it a 1 to 1 ratio? One good deed negates one bad deed. Does, say, helping an old lady across the street get you moved from naughty to nice list when you murdered a person prior to that. And does even all deeds of the same nature rank the same, surely murdering someone good and honorable does not warrant the same repentance as say taking out Anderson where the benefits to the gene pool alone-”

“I think you are over thinking it, Sherlock,” I say with a smile. 

Sherock looks me over a moment and hums to himself as if concluding something. He goes back to looking through the microscope.

**Author's Note:**

> In progress JLAC prompt: Naughty or Nice  
> Plan on this getting interesting when Sherlock creates his own naughty and nice lists


End file.
